


Three Words

by juxtapose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juxtapose/pseuds/juxtapose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur dies at Camlann not having told Merlin something very important. What happens when he gets another chance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Words

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this back in May, deciding to try my hand at reincarnation!fic. I thought it would be interesting to see Arthur's perspective, searching for Merlin throughout the ages since it's usually the other way around. **Disclaimer:** I do not own Merlin.

King Arthur Pendragon falls for the final time at Camlann.

In between the bouts of blackness he sees Mordred peering down at him, piercing eyes alight with power and a bloody sword in his hand, and he knows it will be over soon.

His time is ending.

And suddenly, there is Merlin.

When Arthur opens his eyes, he is in what appears to be a cave, dark but for the shine of the wetness in Merlin's eyes, which are peering over him with emotion tearing through them like crashing waves.

"Merlin," he sputters.

"Shh." Even Merlin's whisper carries his tears. "It's time for you to rest, Arthur."

Arthur fights to keep his gaze on Merlin--Merlin, his idiot manservant and best friend and trusted advisor and sorcerer who could hold the strength of the elements in the palm of his hand.

No one had ever known Arthur the way Merlin had. Not ever. Arthur's eyes flutter shut against his will, and he's swimming in the blackness behind his eyes as he fights desperately to return to the surface of Merlin's blues.

But it's too late.

"Rest, Arthur. I'm here," is Merlin's voice again--a lullaby. And Arthur hears him say gently in his ear, like a breeze, "You deserve it. You have brought this kingdom prosperity. You have fought valiantly and passionately for Camelot until the last moment. You are always my king, Arthur..."

Merlin's voice echoes in a rumble throughout the cave. Arthur wants to open his eyes, dammit, but he can't, the darkness is pulling him in . . .

"I love you, Arthur. I love you more than you will ever know . . . " Merlin _is_ crying now (the utter _girl's petticoat_ ), and Arthur wants to reach up and wipe away his tears but his limbs no longer feel like his own.

 _I love you.  
_  
". . . I will find you again. I promise."

Arthur opens his mouth, tasting blood on his tongue, and tries: "M-Merlin . . . I . . . "

Then nothing.

* * * * *

Soldier Arthur Pendragon stares in complete shock at the twisted body lying on the ground before him.

The war rages on--a terrible one that has spread around the globe like a plague, the first of its kind and certainly not the last--but Arthur can't see or feel or hear anything besides the drumming of his own heart, loud in his ears, the scream that Arthur feels boiling in the bottom of his throat.

Merlin lies unmoving and bloody, his eyes wide and blue as ever, and Arthur half-thinks if it weren't for the fact that he knows the wound he'd suffered had been fatal, he could look almost _alive_.

Because Merlin always had that wide-eyed look about him. He was always curious, always curving his lips and the crinkles of his eyes in the form of a question.

Arthur drops to his knees, and, knowing Merlin won't be moving those blue eyes anymore, reaches out with a shaking hand and shuts them.

"Merlin," he says quietly to the boy who was just 18, who'd wanted to make his mother proud, who'd become a friend of Arthur's (the best) even though he'd promised himself he would attach to no one for fear of losing them in the end.

The air is thick with death and dust and Arthur knows he has to move.

He thinks as he trudges away that there's something he's always meant to tell Merlin. It's on the tip of his tongue, and he feels it in the very depths of him, pounding like his heartbeat.

But it fades away, just like Merlin has. And as Arthur clamps shut the tears in his throat with a hard swallow and puts on a stern face, he tries to forget.

* * * * *

18-year-old Arthur Pendragon hears the familiar sound of a loud engine outside his house, and jumps up to his window.

Sure enough, there is Merlin showing up unannounced in typical _Merlin_ fashion outside his family's old blue van. Arthur idly thinks as he bounds down the stairs that it wouldn't be a normal day at the Pendragon house if his best friend _didn't_ pop in and eat all his food.

Arthur opens his front door.

Merlin is stepping out of the car and calling back something or other to the driver--his mother, Hunith, Arthur suspects, probably telling him to _call me when you're heading home!_ or _Thank Arthur's father if he feeds you!  
_  
"Hey," Arthur calls out to his friend, "Here for the _Charlie's Angels_ marathon? It starts in a few."

But as Merlin approaches the doorway, Arthur realizes Hunith isn't driving away. In fact, she's _parked_.

And then he looks at Merlin, now standing in front of him with those damn blue eyes as bright as the sky above him. They are full of sadness.

"What . . . what is it?" Arthur asks, "What's wrong?" Because he knows something is wrong. He can read Merlin like a book.

Before he can say anything more, Merlin has pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, his arms clasped tightly around Arthur's shoulders.

Arthur almost laughs. "Whoa. Merl. Remember we talked about personal space that time?"

"I came to say goodbye," says Merlin into the fabric of Arthur's shirt, and Arthur stiffens.

He pulls away, his hands on Merlin's shoulders. "Goodbye? What the hell do you mean, 'goodbye'?"

Merlin's reply is flat: "The tumor's spread."

There is a painful silence between the two of them for a moment. This is something neither of them ever liked to talk about; a division between them. And now, Arthur thinks bitterly, it's what may separate them permanently. Merlin speaks again:

"Mum and Dad are taking me to Boston. They have these . . . clinics there, and . . . we've tried everything here and i-it hasn't worked." He bites his lip. "I've known for a while, b-but I . . . I didn't want to spoil the start of your summer."

"Merlin . . . " Arthur says his name just to say anything at all. Then: "We can . . . y'know, write to each other. And you can come visit. Or . . . I can come visit you--"

"D'you remember," Merlin says, his voice broken with tears, "when we were eight, and you sat on the swings in the playground with me when no one else would?"

Arthur looks down. "Of course I do, idiot. That's how we met."

"Yeah, well." Merlin stifles a cry, "Thanks for that. Thank you . . . for everything."

In an intimate gesture, he takes Arthur's hand and squeezes it, and then he is gone, the rackety van skidding off into the distance.

Merlin dies a few months later. And Arthur sits in his sister Morgana's arms and sobs because he knows Merlin's life wasn't finished, and there were so many more things they'd both meant to do. Together.

And in all the letters he'd written, pages and pages and pages, Arthur feels there's still something he'd never gotten to say.

* * * * *

It happens all different ways, throughout time.

And _each_ time, Arthur desperately struggles for those words, that beginning of a thought he knows is there, somewhere. Hidden. It tears him up, reaches into the very essence of him and squeezes, hard, making his chest hurt and his spirit ache with something he knows is missing.

But one day, Arthur remembers.

It is the year 2011. Arthur is twenty years old, driving on the motorway, heading to Merlin's to watch a movie with him and Gwen.

He flips through the car's radio stations, trying to find a good song to listen to. His eyes dart back up to the road, the evening darkness coating everything around him sans the blaring headlights of the cars around him.  
In his rear view mirror, Arthur sees the car behind him swerving sharply.

"Damn," he curses, about to switch lanes.

But it's too late.

The car behind him speeds up with a roar, and the last thing Arthur thinks before everything goes black is that he can't die tonight.

Not when he feels like a part of him is, and always has been missing.

Arthur opens his eyes to see a familiar pair of blues peering down at him.

"Arthur? Oh, God, you're awake--can you hear me? It's Merlin. You've been in an accident, and, oh, _God_ , please talk to me, please . . . "

All Arthur can muster is his name: "Merlin."

But that is apparently enough, because through the blurriness of his vision Arthur sees his best friend Merlin smile broadly, bringing his hands to his head in an apparent combination of sheer relief and joy. "I knew you'd pull through. You're stubborn that way. Your dad's on his way; I've called him already. should go get the doctor--"

But Arthur closes his eyes again, feeling the sensation of Merlin's hand brushing through his hair. On any normal day, Arthur would shove Merlin's hand away playfully, telling him to stop acting like such a girl. But the touch is cool and familiar and Arthur thinks if there's anyone he'd want to be at his side before he dies, it's Merlin Emrys--the cheeky, smart, almost painfully loyal best friend to Arthur almost all his life.

And suddenly, all of this seems vaguely familiar. The thought hits Arthur abruptly, and he wants very much to be able to open his eyes. To see Merlin among the blandness of the hospital room.

He can't. He can't open his eyes.

And his thoughts become his voice as he cries out, in surprise of his own words, "No, not again!"

He feels Merlin's hand on his face again, and then he hears him say:

"Shh . . . rest, Arthur. You're not alone; I'm here."

 _I'm here.  
_  
The words surround Arthur in an echo he knows and strangely feels he's known forever.

And suddenly with a piercing clarity, Arthur Pendragon remembers.

He remembers the feeling of having the fate of a kingdom and its people in his hands. He remembers raging battles and tears. He remembers going through life after life after life, each time letting his eyes shut for a final time feeling completely empty.

He recalls _those three words_ he's felt all along but never spoken.

And amongst all those memories, there is always Merlin's voice, soft, a reminder of the strength that lies not in the sword but in the power of love.

Arthur's eyes pop open and Merlin's looking at him with reassurance edged with a bit of panic. "It's okay, Arthur; you're--"

"I never told you," Arthur chokes out, tears beginning to fight their way from behind his eyes, "Merlin, I remember . . . oh, God, I never told you . . . I have to tell you . . . I heard your voice, I heard what you said to me that night and I never got to--"

"Arthur, what are you--"

But Arthur cuts him off with a kiss, ignoring the horrible pain in his head accompanying his sitting up to reach Merlin. He rips out of the IVs in his arm to press Merlin into him, wrapping himself around him. Merlin returns the kiss, slowly at first, then more confidently, running his fingers through Arthur's hair and the touch is wonderful, the way it should have been many, many years ago.

When Arthur pulls away just so his nose is touching Merlin's, he sees the same look of realization on his face that Arthur figures must be in his own.

A look of understanding. Of eyes that are aged with having waited for something--someone--for a very, very long time.

And Merlin says, "I knew we'd find each other again."

"I love you," Arthur says, _finally_ , and the words fly freely from his lips and they are perfect. He presses his face into Merlin's neck, "I love you so much, Merlin."

And Merlin whispers softly, like a lullaby, "I know, my King. I know."

And for the first time in centuries, Arthur Pendragon, in the arms of his sorcerer, feels complete.


End file.
